riverviewlogs | everything's on fire

Entry tags:

everything's on fire

who: Everyone!
what: The residential building is on fire
when: ~2am, August 23rd
where: The Residential building
warnings: Fire, destruction of property, injury, general warnings for crisis situations

It's a reasonably quiet night, pleasantly dry with a slight breeze. Almost nice, for those that enjoy the hours after midnight long before dawn starts to creep on the horizon. Right until it isn't, when the air changes, and there's the scent of heat that promises smoke. In most places it starts with a flash of blue light that arcs from floor to floor as energy pulses through the building, and there's a crack of sound that follows. The power dies for a moment, and if you're one of the unlucky ones, the light that follows is a literal spark in the dark, burning to life in bright orange-red, yielding heat and smoke and trouble. The energy surge doesn't just hit the lights, but sparked flames that burst to life, and they catch quickly, spreading.

The worst of it starts on the ninth floor, where the smoke and the beginning of heat starts moments before the surge. The fire spreads faster there, people starting to startle awake and realize what's happening as the flames crackle. Eventually there's an announcement on the Network, both alerting people to what's happening and trying to organize both those that are willing to help and those that need it.

Some areas are untouched, while others are ravaged badly, reduced to ashes and crumbling ceilings, so watch your step. There's chaos, but through it there's people doing what they can to help each other, and the official fire services show up to help control the blaze. After that, it's just a matter of repairing the damage that's been done, rebuilding and putting things back together, seeing what's been lost and what was saved.

Even later, people start putting the pieces together, and there's the official investigation into what might have caused a fire like that in the first place.

[ooc: As promised, the residential building is on fire! OOC plotting post is here if anyone wants to work out some last minute plans before diving in. Plotting post also includes the relevant details. Elsewise, just top level and mingle. Try not to get burned too badly. :) Good luck!]

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[He exhales softly, and they walk the handful of blocks to the warehouse apartment like that. It's been a long night, but Bucky knows he won't be getting back to sleep, and he wonders if Ava will be able to rest at all herself. Well, that's a problem for the next moment, the next hour.] You got my word. [Honestly, he's used to being around fire. His best friend (the one his own age, at least) during the war could light himself on fire and fly, and they used to go into battle like that, Toro on fire down to his forearms, Bucky hanging onto his hands while he flew them into the fray. He can handle a little heat. It's not something he's scared of.]

Yeah, I know. [He says it softly, but not unkindly.] We all have to take responsibility when we hurt people. But nobody died. Burns and smoked-out lungs will heal.

[She knows she can't sleep, not now, not with the adrenaline still racing in her veins, not when the horror of it still feels so heavy on her shoulders. But that can wait. For now, she lets him lead her to the warehouse apartment he'd picked up when he'd moved out of communal housing (a fact she is immensely grateful for, at the moment).] Good. And I'll do my best.

[She lets herself believe it. That she wont hurt him, no matter if she does lose control. That he can handle the heat and a few burns.]

I know. You can't erase these things. People you hurt, people you can't save, the dead.

[She sighs, maybe holds on a little tighter, because even if she isn't safe, he agreed that he was. That she couldn't hurt him, and that's a reassurance she's never had.] But they have healers and magic here, so that's good. The first time it happened there was a girl in medical for over a week.

I know. You didn't do any of this on purpose. [They come up on the apartment, and it's a bit of a run-down looking building on the outside. The previous owner had run out of money halfway through renovations and sold it off for cheap to get rid of it before he left the Quarantine. Steve, Bucky and Tony are all working on improvements; it's nice to have a project. But true to his word, it's all brick and metal and concrete, on the outside, with three stories and big windows. He opens the door to let her inside to the spacious, open garage, which currently houses his bike and a service elevator. It'll wind up being workshop space for Tony, most likely.]

No, there's no erasing it, but you can try to make up for it. We'll both go help with the rebuilding tomorrow. [After you've rested is implied but not voiced, because he can't really enforce it.]

It was an accident, Ava. And everyone is going to be fine.

[To be honest, given some of the places that Ava has lived, the apartment doesn't look particularly bad to her eyes. Maybe a little shabby, but it's intact, at least. And much like he said, the building does seem to be fairly fire-resistant. Even if it did catch fire, it probably wouldn't spread, not like it had in the residential building.]

I was planning on it anyway. [She admits it quietly, a shrug of her shoulders. She catches the implication, of course. She's not sure she can really rest- as exhausted as she is from the nightmares and the panic and the exhaustion, she's also not sure she could sleep.]

Yeah, but I still feel guilty about it. Just because I couldn't help it never seems like it makes it better.

[A short trip up in the elevator, and he steps out into the apartment itself. It's a little shabby, but has a vaguely Brooklyn feel, modeled after Steve's apartment back home. It's a little more lived in here, with sketches on the walls and minimal but comfortable furniture. He motions for her to make herself at home and heads to the fridge to get a couple bottles of water.] I'll go with you. Probably falls under Perimeter Guard duties somewhere.

I get that. [There's a bit of a somber look on his face that says he understands the sentiment all too well. He passes her a bottle of water.] The best thing to do is spend your energy trying to make up for it instead of beating yourself up. And remember it's only minor injuries and property damage.

[She follows after him, and there's a pause as she looks around. It feels a little like Brooklyn, like the sort of place she might expect in one of those brownstone apartments and there's something nice about that. Brooklyn had been the only place she'd ever really called home.] Be nice to have a friendly face around.

[Her lips thin a little as she takes the bottle of water, uncapping it and taking a drink as a way to dodge how clear the understanding there is in his eyes. Which is a different sort of comfort, but one that's harder to admit to seeing.]

I'll do what I can, at least. Wish I was better for fixing things instead of just-- [There's a slight gesture with the water bottle and a sigh. Ruining things, breaking things. She was capable of doing some neat tricks with electricity, but it wasn't quite the same as fixing things, putting back the things she'd broken.] That.

[It's definitely Brooklyn-inspired. It wasn't Bucky's home the way it was Steve's, but he had found a lot of good there, living in Steve's old apartment with the New Avengers.] As if I'd be anywhere else. [Not just for her, but also because he gravitates toward work that will make a difference. He has his own shit to make up for.

He's quiet for a long few minutes, draining his water bottle and splashing a bit of it on his face to wash off some of the soot that darkens his cheeks.] When I was with the Invaders, I used to wish I had some kind of superpower. Here I was, this seventeen year old kid in a domino mask trying to keep up with men on fire and super-soldiers and the Prince of Atlantis. But there were things I could do that none of them could.

We all have to work with what we've got. For those of us who got the short end of the stick, sometimes it means gettin' creative. You're a smart kid, I know you're capable of doing whatever you want to do.

[She likes it. Tempers a little bit of her worry and the strain of feeling like she's out of control, like she's about to lose herself entirely if she doesn't hold every breath and choke it down. She knows that it's at least in part just because of what had just happened, but it's still-- there.

She listens, drinks her water, lets the coolness of it settle in her chest instead of the smoke and the heat and the memories that still feel a little too present, a little too cloying. She smiles at the image of it a little, Bucky young and running around with a mask and everyone around him some sort of powerhouse.

Then he calls her a kid and she frowns. Her voice is soft, no heat to it, even if the words are firm as she looks up at him.]

I'm not a kid.

[There's too much. Too much pain, too much that exists behind her eyes. She's never been a kid, never been allowed to be, and she knows he doesn't mean the nickname to hurt. But it's too late to pretend she gets a childhood.]

[That answer is predictable, in a way. Every teenager says the same thing. I'm not a kid, take me seriously. It isn't that he doesn't take her seriously, he recognizes the gleam of pain behind her eyes. But she's only, what? Nineteen? Maybe he's just getting old but she still seems incredibly young to him.

He breathes out slowly.] Yeah, I guess you're not. I wasn't either at your age. [And then a weak attempt at a joke,] I'm old, though. Bear with me, huh?

[It's not even so much about the idea that she think he doesn't respect her. take me seriously urge that makes it so easy to brush her off. She sighs a little, a twitch of her lips.]

I know you are. [She teases a little, a tilt of her head.] And I don't hold it against you. But I've never been a kid. I was born to be part of a Russian weapons project. And even if there was any shred of it, I either can't remember, or it got ruined when I had decades of Natasha's memories stuffed into my head.

[She talks around the hurt and the loss, because it's easier.] I know I look young.

[She's right and he knows it. The Red Room doesn't leave any space in a life for a childhood of any sort besides horrific. The girls he trained were older, but some had still been part of the program since their early years. It's still hard to think about, how he was involved in ruining lives. He helped to build the foundation that later took so much from Ava, whether he chose it or not.

He exhales, sobered.] I know. There's a part of me that wishes I could give some of that back to you, but I can't. [A shake of his head.] But that's my shit to deal with. I don't need to put it on you. I know you're not a kid.

[That urge to protect is still there, though, curling in his chest.] Well. Make yourself at home while you're here, I'll get you some bedding for the couch.

Hey, James--

[She pauses, looking up at him, a soft touch of a smile on her lips, trying to balance her feelings here. Because she doesn't want to push him away either, make him think that she doesn't appreciate the ways that he cares for her. She's never had that before, not like this.]

It doesn't mean you can't still make me pancakes.

[Trying to lighten things a little, even if she can still feel the fire on her skin, still see the people she hurt, and hear his guilt. It's a heavy night, but she's trying to find space to breathe, at least. Even if it feels selfish.]

Just because you can't give me back my childhood doesn't mean it doesn't matter. You care. I think that's even better.

[She shrugs a little, looking over at him. Just because she's not a child, doesn't mean she wants to push him away.]

Edited 2017-09-16 20:36 (UTC)

[His posture softens a little at her words, the slight hint of humor. He can recognize the attempt, and he's happy to meet her in the middle. An emotional compromise, of sorts; care but don't treat her like a child. Bucky manages a small smile, subtle but genuine.]

You're right. It doesn't mean I can't still make you pancakes. [He agrees, voice quiet in the still apartment, his shoulders relaxing incrementally as the late hour ticks on. The guilt will always be there, but it's his own shit to carry; same as all the rest of his guilt that can never be assuaged. Maybe Sam would say it isn't healthy for him to keep blaming himself for everything, but lately, it's the only way he knows to live.

He gathers some extra pillows and a nice blanket from the linen closet and brings them to the couch. At least he knows from experience that the large sofa is comfortable enough to sleep on.] Here. Try to get at least a few hours sleep tonight? I'll make breakfast before we head out in the morning.

[His acceptance makes her smile a little. Because the last thing she wants is to mess this up. She's not great at putting it into words, but it means a lot to her, having him here. He cares and that's something she'd been chasing for the lion's share of her life.

She wants to offer something in return, that he can talk to her too. But the night's just a little hard already and she can't quite figure out what she wants to say, so it's easier to put it off until the morning. Her guilt might not be as consuming as his, but she understands. Instead she arranges the pillows and blankets on the couch. Ava is small so the couch is more than large enough to fit her.] I'll do my best. You should get some rest, too. I'm sure things'll be busy in the morning.

[Thankfully she was already in her pajamas, so with her bag tucked neatly at the end of the couch she just settles in, curling up under the blanket.]

And-- Thank you. Really. [Her words stumbling into Russian as she stifles a yawn.]

[Bucky has no doubt he'll nearly fuck things up again, or maybe Ava will, or maybe they both will. Neither of them have the best social skills or ability to relate to others in normal ways, unburdened by the trials of the Red Room. But it's okay. He's still not going anywhere. And whatever else there is, they can deal with it later. Right now she needs to sleep, and Bucky needs to sleep, though he won't.]

Yeah, I will. [A little white lie. He makes sure she gets settled okay, smiling slightly, and when the Russian words come, he returns them.]

Any time. Sleep well. [As she falls asleep, he silently steals his way to the roof to spend the rest of the night thinking.]

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everything's on fire

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